Pottergate SG1: Another Day, Another Fray
by ChaosMan
Summary: A comical take on Harry Potter merged with Stargate SG1. Join SG1 Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Charlie as they take on all the challenges the galaxy can throw at them. NEW Episode 3: Out of the Frying Pan
1. Pottergate SG1:Another Day, Another Fray

**Pottergate-SG1: Another Day, Another Fray**

UPDATE 9/13/2007: Fixed some spelling errors in the first two chapters, and added a third episode (Ch3: Out of the Frying Pan).

Plot is loosely...uh, make that _very _loosely taken from Stargate episode 'In the line of duty.'

Starring:

Harry Potter as Colonel Jack O'Neil,  
Hermione Granger as Captain Samantha Carter,  
Ron Weasley as Doctor Daniel Jackson,  
Charlie Weasley as Teal'c,  
Albus Dumbledore as General George Hammond,  
Fred Weasley as Random Security Guard Guy,  
Madam Pomfrey as Doctor Janet Frasier,  
Gildroy Lockhart as Blonde Man,  
Neville Longbottom as Partial Elephant Boy,  
Security Troll as Burly Security Troll.

Disclaimer: I don't own the plot, I don't own the names, I don't own the characters...in fact I don't own anything, so I thank whoever dreamed them up for this unauthorised use of them, and I apologize whole-heartedly for wrecking them so badly.

Note: Please do not expect _anything_ to conform to the laws of physics or any other laws defined in either Stargate or Harry Potter, cause I've taken poetic licence to the extreme.

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Colonel Harry Potter ducked as a pale gold spell screamed past his ear. He quickly raised his wand arm and fired a cheering charm at the Grindylow who had shot at him, pasting a goofy grin across its face and sending it charging after a fellow creature in an attempt to hug it. Turning away, Harry shouted at the cluster of refugees behind him, "Come _on_! Get moving!" His eyes searched for Doctor Weasley, "Ron! Get that fireplace dialed up! We've got to leave _NOW!_"

"On it!" cried Ron, as he tried to force his way through the crowd.

Harry fired off a Patronus to stall the dragon-mounted Grindylow that was attempting to swoop down on the refugees, "_Dammit Charlie!_" He bellowed, "_Do something about that dragon!_"

Charlie's response was drowned out by the screams of the refugees and the constant barrage of spells, but he moved off toward the dragon, so Harry turned his attention elsewhere. A confundus curse slammed into a refugee nearby, and Harry stabbed his wand towards the attacker, instantly shrinking it to the size of a golf ball. It was then promptly trodden on by another Grindylow who charged toward the group before an Engorgement charm from Harry left it clutching its bulging belly.

Spinning around, Harry saw that Ron had managed to get the fire lit, and the refugees were beginning to pour through. Turning back, he dodged a leg-locking curse and answered it with a tickling charm. "_Granger!_" he yelled over the noise, looking around for her, "_where the hell are you!_" Finally he spotted her on her knees giving a kiss to a blonde man who had taken a hit from a nasty jelly-legs curse. Harry ran over too her and pulled her to her feet, "_Captain!_" he hollered at her, "_We've got to hold them off! I need your grenades!"_ She stared at him with a vague expression on her face. Harry shook her gently, "_Your dungbombs, Granger! Give me your dungbombs!_"

She appeared to snap out of her trance, and passed Harry a number of dungbombs, which he began lobbing at the approaching Grindylows. When his supply was exhausted he grabbed Hermione and pulled her towards the fireplace, where the last of the refugees were disappearing. Firing spells over his shoulder, Harry yelled for Ron and Charlie to go through, and they didn't need to be told twice.

When Harry and Hermione reached the fireplace, Harry unceremoniously shoved her through, gave a quick glance over his shoulder to check that everyone who could leave had done so, then dived through himself.

"_Close the iris!_" Harry bellowed as he tumbled through the fireplace in General Dumbledore's office. Immediately a heavy metal grating clanged down across the hearth. A couple of the braver Grindylow attempted to follow the refugees through, and ended up with their heads jammed through the bars.

"What the hell happened out there Colonel?" asked Dumbledore.

Harry glanced around at the dozens of refuges crammed into the small office and grimaced, "Long story, sir."

---

Later that day, Harry was lounging in the SG1 common room, playing a nice, relaxing game of exploding snap with Charlie. He was nursing a luke-warm butterbeer, about half of which currently adorned the front of his uniform-robes after a particularly violent round. He was just about to suggest that they call it quits when the Golden Galleon in his pocket suddenly heated up. He pulled it out and looked at the serial number, which was now spelling out 'NOWNOWNOWNOW'.

He leapt to his feet, "Emergency in the gate room, Charlie, let's go!" The two of them ran out of the room and charged down the corridor to General Dumbledore's office, where they burst through the doors to find Hermione standing in front of the fireplace holding a dungbomb.

Her eyes glowed, and she spoke in a heavily distorted voice, "Give me the floo powder, or I'll detonate it." She waved the dungbomb around for effect.

Harry locked eyes with her and said firmly, "No one's going to give you any floo powder, your not going anywhere."

Hermione's eyes glowed again, the anger in them easily visible, "You _must_ let me go!"

Harry started to shake his head, but at that moment the baby mandrake that Dumbledore kept in a pot in the corner of his office finished digging its way to freedom. It leapt into the air with a triumphant squeal, which rendered everyone in the room unconscious.

---

When he awoke, Harry found himself lying on a bed in the hospital wing with the others from the gate room arrayed on other beds around him. All except for Captain Granger, that is. Quickly he asked Doctor Pomfrey where she was, and found that she had been locked up in the dungeons with a burly security troll stationed outside the door. Relieved, Harry lay back and waited for the others to awaken.

Half an hour later (nearly everyone had awoken shortly after Harry, but Ron had apparently decided to make the most of an unscheduled nap) the three remaining members of SG1 were gathered around a small card table in a broom-closet, discussing the days events.

"So she's got a Goa'uld now?" asked Dumbledore bluntly.

"Looks that way, sir," replied Harry, "though how one of those horrible diary things managed to infect her--" He slapped his forehead, "Of course! That blonde haired man!"

Several moments of silence followed that statement, until, when it became clear that Harry was not going to elaborate, General Dumbledore asked, "Care to enlighten us, Colonel?"

Harry looked at him, "Oh," he said, "back with the refugees, sir, there was a blonde man that had taken a direct hit from a jelly-legs curse. Granger was bending over him for some reason. I thought I saw a flash of black in her hand as she stood up, but it vanished so quickly I thought I'd imagined it."

Doctor Pomfrey, who had tagged along to the meeting, chimed in, "If a diary can infect a human with no detectable signs...we're going to have to start doing complete searches of the belongings of every person who comes back through the fireplace!"

Dumbledore nodded and sighed, "Colonel? Could you go and have a word with our new guest, and see if you can find out what it was trying to do here?" Harry nodded. "Doctor Weasley, Charlie, if you could help me do a search of this facility to see if we can find what it was up to?" More nods. "Alright then. Dismissed."

---

Down in the dungeons, Harry walked up to the bars of the cell containing the captive Hermione and said simply, "You're a Goa'uld."

The vehemence in the reply made Harry take a step back in surprise, "_No!_ I am _not_ a Goa'uld!"

"Really?" asked Harry, "Care to explain the little black book then?" he pointed at the object in her right hand.

"Yes," she sighed, "my spirit resides in this diary, but I am not a Goa'uld! The assumption that I am is blatant bookism, and is against the wizarding conventions of six-seventy three!"

"Pardon me," said Harry, "but you have seized control of a member of my team and threatened to release hazardous materials into this base...I don't think I'm the one that's going to get in trouble with the law."

At that point, a Bashing Boomerang smacked Harry in the back of the head, rendering him unconscious again.

This time when he woke up he was still in the dungeons. He looked over to see Hermione lying on the floor of her cell, covered in what appeared to be confetti. As he watched, her eyelids fluttered open, and she gazed weakly at him. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper, as though all the strength had been sapped from her body, "It gave it's life for me," she croaked, "Fred Weasley...he was holding another diary. He threw a fanged frisby at me, and the Goa'uld in me thrust its diary up to save me..." then confusion flickered over her face as she said, "then Fred apologized...". Hermione's strength gave out then, and she lapsed into the land of nod.

Harry pushed himself to his feet, and scrambled out of the dungeons, dodging the unconscious form of the security troll as he did so. Judging from the dent above the door, the troll had started chase Fred, but had forgotten to duck to get through the doorway. Harry plowed on.

Harry raced down the corridors, but people kept getting in his way; at one point he had to crawl on his stomach to get past Neville, who had somehow managed to partially turn himself into an Elephant.

Finally he reached Dumbledore's office, and he threw the door open. Inside he found Fred Weasley, holding an ominous black diary in his hand, engaged in a deep conversation with himself.

"Look," said Fred to himself, "we can't just blow the place up! Where's your class, where's your style? I'm all for roughing the place up a bit, but wanton destruction is not the way to go!"

"Quiet, human!" replied Fred in a distorted voice, "your desires are meaningless. This facility will be destroyed."

"Aww, come on!" said Fred, "Why not leave something really memorable, like a swarm of tribbles or something?"

"I do not know what a tribble is," said distorted Fred, "and nor do I care, be silent so I can finish my task."

"Hey, don't be like that!" said Fred, "if we work together I know we could come up with something great!"

Harry stood there watching the display for a while, scratching his head. Then he slowly pulled out his wand and used it to send the black diary tumbling into the fire, where it quickly burned down to nothing.

Fred stared into the fire for a few moments, then shrugged. With a slight "Oh", he walked past Harry and left the room.

Harry stood there for several minutes, then his shoulders sagged and he headed for bed. Hopefully tomorrow would be an easier day.

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--The End--  
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Check out Chapter 2: Wonky Wardrobe!


	2. Pottergate SG1: Wonky Wardrobe

**Pottergate-SG1: Wonky Wardrobe**

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Colonel Harry Potter was sitting in a low chair beside the card-table in the briefing-room/broom-closet, along with General Dumbledore, Captain Granger, and Charlie. They were all waiting on Doctor Weasley, who, as usual, was curled up in some remote corner of the castle, fast asleep. They had long ago run out of things to talk about, and were now deeply involved in a riveting game of eye-spy.

"Eye spy," began Hermione, having correctly guessed General Dumbledore's object (a broom), "with my little eye...something beginning with...um... 'B'!"

"Oooo, wait, wait!" cried Dumbledore, "I know this one! It's...a...umm...a beetle!"

"No," said Hermione, her eyes twinkling.

"No? Ok then. Um...Oh! Of course! It's a brussel sprout!"

"Nope," chirped Hermione happily.

"Really? Are you sure? All right then, it's got to be a boulder!"

Harry sighed, neither Hermione nor Dumbledore ever seemed to have quite grasped the concept of eye-spy. Fortunately, the game was interrupted at that moment by the entrance of Doctor Weasley, yawning widely and stretching, dressed in bright pink flannelet pyjamas. He stopped abruptly when he saw everyone was staring at him, and looked slowly down. When he saw he was still in his pyjamas, his face changed colour to match them, and he turned and left the broom-closet.

Ten minutes later, the meeting finally commenced. "Ok people," said General Dumbledore in his official tone (which was exactly the same as his normal tone, but he liked to think it was different), "the situation on planet P577-358-211-523-125-535-898 is becoming desperate; the poor bugger really wants out of there." He chuckled at his own joke. Everyone else just stared blankly at him. "Ahem, yes, well, there's been an outbreak of a retro-virus on this planet, and the population has turned to us for help."

"A retro-virus, sir?" asked Harry.

"Yes," said Dumbledore, "a doddery old virus that no is longer able to function properly. If we don't act fast they may wither and die."

"Wait, wait, wait," said Ron, "we want to _save_ this virus?"

"Of course!" replied Dumbledore, "our laws clearly state that we must provide adequate care for any citizens over 65 years of age, and this virus has been circulating through the planet's eco-system for over a century."

Now, while you or I might have voiced some sort of objection to this, those in the briefing-room/broom-closet simply shrugged and nodded. General Dumbledore then clapped his hands and said, "Alright then! You leave at 0713 hours. Dismissed!" (If you're wondering at the odd departure time, look carefully at the numbers...General Dumbledore is a very superstitious man).

- - -

SG1 emerged through the fireplace on P577-358-211-523-125-535-898 with a number of crates in tow, filled to the brim with beds, bedding, heating appliances, food liquifiers, reading-glasses, and false-teeth. All virus-sized. They were met by a welcoming committee made up of several younger viruses, all riding dust-motes with miniature saddles and harnesses strapped on.

The lead virus said a few sentences in Korean. Harry peered (hard to stare at a virus) blankly at him, then turned to Doctor Weasley.

"Ron," he said, "you're the language expert, what did he say?"

"Erm..." stammered Ron, who had enough trouble spelling english words correctly, and hence had about as much chance of translating Korean as a Middle-Eastern nation avoiding invasion at the hands of George W. Bush, "I think he said something about pickled cabbage?" Harry rolled his eyes.

Eventually, after long minutes of failed communication, an english-speaking virus was brought out and SG1 was officially welcomed. Once the pleasantries had been exchanged, the team was led to a building, small by human standards, built from matchstick sized pieces of wood. Inside, they were told, was the entire population of aged virus.

Harry led the way, bending low under the door frame, followed by their mote-mounted escorts, then the rest of SG1. Unfortunately, when Ron stepped into the room he came a little too close to the escorts, and one got sucked up his nostril. Ron immediately sneezed, sending the young virus flying into the far wall with a minuscule _splat_ noise, and startling each and every retro-virus into cardiac arrest.

- - -

"Doctor Ron Weasley," said the Judge-Virus (in english),"You stand here accused of mass virus-slaughter. How do you plead?"

"On my knees, sir," whimpered Ron, "bowed before your might and wisdom."

The Judge-Virus groaned, "Guilty or not guilty?"

"Oh," said Ron, "Not guilty, your eminence."

The Judge-Virus turned to the twelve jury-viruses seated in tiny wooden chairs behind a tiny wooden dividing wall, "how do you find?"

The jury-virus closest to the Judge-Virus stood (raising his height such a small amount that he needn't have bothered) and said, "Guilty, your honour, by unanimous vote."

Now it was Ron's turn to groan, as the Judge rattled off his sentence, "For this crime," it said, "we bestow the worst punishment that our laws may affect on an off-worlder: death, by infection." A collective gasp arose from the viruses arrayed inside the courtroom. SG1 just sighed.

Three hours before the sentence was due to be carried out, the three members of SG1 who were not convicted felons broke their fourth member out of incarceration. It wasn't easy, mind you, they had to get through metal bars almost as thick as a paperclip, but somehow they managed it, and all four made a hasty retreat towards the fireplace.

Unfortunately, it wasn't long before the viruses noticed the breakout, and they sent their biggest, meanest troops out after them; the cold viruses. (Insert dramatic music here).

It swiftly became clear that SG1 was not going to make it; the colds were just too swift. Eventually Harry stopped and turned to face the advancing menace. Hermione noticed and tried to pull him with her, shouting at him to run, but Harry shoved her away. "Go!" he yelled, "I'll hold them off."

With tears in her eyes, Hermione obeyed, and she took off after Ron and Charlie. Harry faced his advancing opponents with a scowl plastered on his face. As they drew nearer, he slipped his right hand up to his hip, then slowly pulled the can of disinfectant out of its holster. Then, with a primal howl, he leapt at the viruses, spraying with abandon.

Three minutes later he tumbled through the fireplace, exhausted, into Dumbledore's office and the relieved hugs of the other SG1 members.

"I hate colds," said Harry, before they all left for a nice, tall, hot-chocolate.

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--The End--  
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Check out Chapter 3: Out of the Frying Pan!


	3. Pottergate SG1: Out of the Frying Pan

**Pottergate-SG1: Out of the Frying Pan**

The third instalment in the Pottergate-SG1 saga. (In case you're wondering, it was never actually supposed to go past one story…)

Thanks to EmDod for beta reading this one (that's right – there'll be less spelling errors this time!)

I hope you enjoy it!

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SG-1 stood in General Dumbledore's office, a fire burning fiercely in the hearth. Harry was arguing with Dumbledore; the rest of the team, well used to the arguments, had found ways to amuse themselves – Ron was leaning against a wall, tickling a pear in the painting that hung there (the pear wasn't doing anything, but Ron seemed entertained); Hermione was rapping to Eminem on her ipod while practicing the ridiculously complex handshakes that were apparently required to participate in ethnic communication; Charlie was flexing in front of a mirror.

"General, with all due respect, not everyone's as frail as you," said Harry.

Dumbledore – a large Texan man, with about a hundred pounds on Harry – loomed menacingly.

"Pfah," said Harry. "Charlie!" he said, waving him over. "Show him how it's done."

Charlie, while reluctant to abandon his reflection, couldn't miss out on an opportunity to loom, and he hurried over. Standing tall in front of the general, he crossed his arms, stuck out his jaw, and narrowed his eyes. His muscles danced to a gentle waltz (heaven only knows where the music came from – they had tried to figure that out many times without success).

Dumbledore deflated, out-loomed, but he continued his argument, "Look, _Colonel_, I know you think you can handle yourselves, but the chances of a fire-fight on this mission are very high." He pointed at Grawp. "You're taking SG-3 with you, like it or not."

Grawp, who was folded about four times to fit beneath the office's low ceiling, grunted vaguely and sneezed, knocking everyone off their feet and extinguishing the fire.

"Fine," said Harry, haughtily. "Granger," he snapped, venting some of his frustration, "get that fire lit."

They stepped out from the fireplace on a far distant world, covered head to toe in soot – apparently no one put much stock in cleaning out there. They all spent several minutes trying to clean it from their clothing, but were eventually distracted by whimpering sounds from Ron.

"_What?!_" demanded Harry, annoyed.

Ron pointed; everyone froze. There, towering above them, stood a…a…

"Granger," said Harry, "what _is_ that?"

She opened _The Monster book of Monsters_ and began flipping through the pages. Ron, momentarily distracted, gaped at her. "How did…where did…" He then began examining every inch of her, trying to figure out where the book had come from.

She shoved him away, "Honestly Ronald," she said, before turning to Harry. "It's an Alpha Centauri – part horse, part planet." Sure enough, it had the body of an enormous horse, with the torso of a rather unpleasant-looking planet. It began emitting a loud whining noise, slowly increasing in volume; Harry wondered if it was about to take off.

"It's asleep," Hermione observed. "If we move quietly, we should be able to sneak past." Harry might have commented at this, but the snoring got too loud and he had to clap his hands over his ears.

The group moved out, SG-1 taking point, with SG-Grawp strolling happily along behind. Everything went fine until a sharp pain in his backside made Harry yelp – Hermione's book had apparently gotten hungry. Before anyone even had a chance to laugh, the snoring stopped and a large roar echoed down from above.

The affect on the group was instantaneous – Grawp began picking his nose, Ron stuck his fingers in his ears and started humming, Charlie absently polished his bald scalp with his sleeve, Hermione quickly rattled off all the interesting facts she could think of, and Harry grasped his scar – it wasn't hurting, but he had to look like he was doing something. In the end it was Charlie who accidentally saved the day: the sunlight reflecting off his shiny cranium blinded the creature, which stumbled off, clawing at its eyes until it knocked itself out on a mountain.

They started moving again, pointedly avoiding each other's gazes, not going in any particular direction but trusting that the writers would make sure they found something interesting.

They had been walking for quite some time when Ron spoke. "Uh, why did we bring him?" he asked, pointing over his shoulder at Grawp.

Hermione gave an over-theatrical sigh. "Don't you _ever_ listen?" she asked. "He's here as _backup_."

He scowled at her. "I know _that_," he said, "but aside from that atlas thing Charlie KO'd back there – and he wasn't much use there – I don't see what's so dangerous about this stupid world."

Everyone froze, though Grawp took slightly longer to react than the rest and trod on Hermione. They were surrounded. All around them stood figures dressed in grey armour, pointing wands at them. One of them raised his visor. The small orange sweet glued to his forehead identified him immediately as a Jaffa.

Harry saw they were ridiculously outnumbered and dropped his wand. He then turned around, raised his hand, and smacked Ron hard on the forehead. "Every damn time! The mission's going fine, and then you go and open your big mouth!"

"He is correct, Ronald Weasley," said Charlie, making them jump – they'd forgotten he could talk. "I have observed repeated occurrences of you describing perceived flaws in the situation. In every instance this has resulted in us being placed in unreasonably desperate circumstances." He looked around at the troops that had encircled them. "I would appreciate your silence in future."

Harry started to laugh at Charlie's joke, but then Grawp, who was balanced on one foot peeling Hermione off the sole of the other, lost his balance and fell on top of them.

When he awoke, Harry found himself sitting in a forest clearing with his hands awkwardly behind his back. He looked around and found the rest of his team beside him, Grawp sitting a short distance away chewing on his toenails. In front of them stood a man in flowing black robes, the wand in his hand pointed casually at them. Harry could see the corner of a black diary sticking out of his pocket.

"Untie us!" shouted Harry, not expecting compliance, but figuring it was worth a shot.

The Goa'uld seemed surprised. "What?" he said. "I…you're not tied up…"

"That's a lie!" said Harry. He flexed his arms against their bonds, only to find there weren't any. "Oh… I…they were behind my back… I assumed…"

Their captor rolled his eyes. "_This_ is the famous Harry Potter?" he asked no one in particular.

"Famous?" said Harry. "We work for a secret government organisation… nobody knows who we are."

"You are famous among the Death Eaters…you keep trying to kill us."

"Death Eaters?" said Ron, in a terrified voice. "You're not cannibals…are you?"

"What? Cannibals? Who…where…_what's wrong with you?!_" The Goa'uld's eyes were on full-beam with rage, but he took several deep breaths and managed to calm himself down. Gathering himself, he switched back to his posh English accent. "Enough of this," he enunciated, "it is time for you to die." He raised his wand.

Grawp hit him with a tree.

Harry got up and walked to the possessed man's unconscious form. Shaking his head, he bent down and retrieved four wands from a pocket. Tossing three of them to his team, he turned to the giant. "Thanks Grawp," he said, "I thought we were gon – "

Grawp hit him with the tree.

Harry crumpled.

"GRAWP!" screeched Hermione.

Grawp thrust the tree behind his back and tried to look innocent.

"Blimey," said Ron, "that brute's mental."

Grawp hit him with the tree too, though not as hard as the other two.

"OW!" yelled Ron as he picked himself up from the ground, brushing a bird's nest out of his hair. "I think he broke my nose!"

"Not to worry!" came a new voice, sounding very pleased. "I can have that fixed in a jiffy."

They turned around to find Gilderoy Lockhart standing behind them.

"What? Where the bloody hell did you come from?" demanded Ron.

"Yes," said Hermione, "you were only supposed to be in the first episode."

Lockhart looked at her and she blushed. "I know one of the writers," he said. "She agreed to get me a guest spot if I signed some autographs." He turned to Ron, "Now, about that nose…" He flicked his wand. Ron's nose flopped pathetically, the bone and cartilage gone. Nobody moved for several long moments, then, with a nervous cough, Lockhart backed away slowly until he disappeared among the trees.

"I'b goig to kib dat ban," said Ron, his speech hampered somewhat.

By the time they got back to the fireplace Harry was awake again, though he kept throwing nervous glances at Grawp. Ron bent down to light the wood that sat in the grate while the rest of them kept watch, wands at the ready.

"Come on Ron! What's taking so long?" said Harry, looking over.

"It's no use," said Ron, throwing down his matches. "The stupid wood's all wet."

Harry thought quickly. "Hermione," he said, "do you have any hair-spray with you?"

"Oh yes," said Hermione sarcastically. "I'm a girl, so of course I carry beauty products _everywhere_. Real nice, Harry."

"Ok, ok," said Harry. "Sorry. I'll think of something else."

"No, I have some," she said, handing it over. "I just don't like being stereotyped."

Ron stared at her. "_Women!_" he said.

Hermione made a rude gesture at him, but Harry ignored them and squatted down beside the fireplace, slipping his wand into a pocket. Giving the can a good shake, he struck a match and held it in front of the nozzle while he pressed down on top of it, causing a jet of flame to shoot towards the offending logs. A couple of burnt fingers later he had a roaring fire going.

"Right," he said as he stood up. "I'll just send the iris code through and we can go home." He pulled his wand out again, but before he could do anything light shimmered around them and his watch, his collar, and the ring he was wearing on his right index finger all disappeared. "What the hell?" he said.

Beside him Hermione shrieked. "My bracelet!"

"Oi! My sleeves!" shouted Ron.

"My mammillary piercing appears to have vanished," said Charlie.

"What was — wait, you have a nipple piercing?" said Harry.

"No longer," replied Charlie. "That was a Goa'uld ring transporter."

"_They took my sleeves!_" yelled Ron, "_what the hell do they want with my sleeves?_"

"The device is designed to confiscate any objects that resemble rings."

"To confiscate rings…" repeated Harry, "Why…what…_rings?!_"

Before Charlie could elaborate, light shimmered around them again and the landscape dissolved, to be replaced swiftly by a dimly lit room. Grawp did not appear have travelled with them, but a number of friendly-looking Jaffa were pointing wands threateningly at them.

Harry sighed heavily. "This is getting really old."

Frustration got the better of Ron. "_Bombarda!_" he yelled. A bolt of energy zipped just past Harry's ear and slammed into a Ming vase that was standing behind the Jaffas. The vase exploded, sending razor sharp shards flying at the soldiers, where it tinkled pleasantly on their armour.

Stunning spells slammed into each member of SG-1, rendering them unconscious. Again.

They awakened this time in what appeared to be a kitchen. A headache was beginning to form behind Harry's eyes. He was getting a little sick of unscheduled naps – though from the snores still coming from Ron, at least someone was enjoying them.

He looked over at Hermione who caught his eye. "I'm really starting to dislike this mission," she said.

"I too am finding it difficult to apply positive adjectives to this assignment," supplied Charlie, who then pulled a small tin of polish out of a pocket in his robes and got to work on his skull.

"Where are we?" Harry wondered aloud.

"It appears to be a Goa'uld childship," said Charlie, carefully buffing behind his ear.

"A childship?"

"Yes, the lack of adequate carpeting indicates that it is not fully grown. The mothership will likely be nearby."

Harry, whose head was throbbing quite insistently now, decided he just didn't care. He pulled a chocolate bar out of his pocket and began munching on it.

Presently, the Death Eater they had escaped from earlier entered the room. Three members of SG-1 turned their attention to him immediately, but Ron merely gave an extra loud snore and shifted slightly. Harry jabbed him in the ribs with his wand.

"Whozawuzzat?" said Ron, groggy with sleep. He looked up and saw the Death Eater glaring at him. Rolling his eyes he said, "You woke me up for _that?_"

"Silence fool!" commanded the Goa'uld. "You – "

Ron interrupted him. "'_Silence fool_'? Come on mate, even for you guys that's pretty lame."

The Goa'uld snapped his fingers. Two Jaffa entered the room, one carrying a bottle of fire-whiskey, the other carrying some shot glasses. They placed them on a nearby table and left the room.

"This," the Death Eater said, indicating the bottle, "is known as a Zat'nik'tel. One shot will cause you unbearable pain … a second shot will kill you. If you interrupt me again, you shall feel it first-hand."

Ron raised his eye-brows, keen to try some, but a harsh glare from Hermione subdued him.

"Now," said the Death Eater, "I know who you are. I know why you're here. What I don't know is why you thought you would get away with it. Your arrogance knows no bounds, but you will not walk away this time. I – "

He was interrupted again, this time by the roar of flames – the drapes above a nearby stove had caught fire thanks to some bacon left in the frying pan, and were burning fiercely.

The Goa'uld gave a high-pitched squeal and fled the room.

Moving quickly, Harry grabbed their wands from the table and passed them out. As an after-thought, he grabbed the fire-whiskey and a shot glass as well, then ran to the door and checked the corridor for hostiles. The rest of SG-1 took up positions to either side of him, except for Ron who was scraping the bacon – rather blackened – from the pan.

"_Ron!_" shrieked Hermione. He reluctantly abandoned his dinner.

They emerged from the room into an empty corridor and raced down it, looking for a way out. Partway down, a Jaffa came out of a side-door and tried to stop them. Harry quickly poured a glass of whiskey and tipped it down the man's throat. The soldier collapsed, screaming in agony, and SG-1 took off again.

Eventually they ended up in a large room with a floral pattern in the centre of the floor. The walls were very pink.

"This is the vessel's transportation facility," said Charlie.

"It's very …" said Hermione vaguely, gazing around.

"_Pink_" supplied Ron and Harry.

"Yes, this vessel appears to female."

"I'll say … Blimey."

Charlie moved towards a suit of armour that stood against the wall and began manipulating its pose. Ron moved over to a silver box that hovered in mid air near the floral pattern. It had a large black square covering most of the front face, and a pair of long silver spikes sticking out of the top.

"Charlie," he said, "what's this thing?"

Charlie looked over. "That is a Goa'uld long range communications device, somewhat like your television only much further advanced."

"Uh, Charlie," said Harry, "that _is_ a television."

Charlie shrugged and turned back to the armour. When he finished arranging it, it was in a ballerina pose – including tutu.

"We must now position ourselves on the floral design," said Charlie. They did so, and after a flash of light they found themselves back down on the planet, a short distance from the fireplace.

Far above them, a large fireball was streaking down from the sky.

"Quick, get that fire started!" Harry yelled to Ron.

After a couple of attempts, the fire flared up in the grate.

"Ok, everyone stand back and I'll send through the iris code."

Ron moved back from the fireplace, and Harry raised his wand. "_Expecto patronum!_" he cried, and a silvery stag charged into the fire. "Right!" he said, "Everybody in!"

They all piled in a heap in Dumbledore's office. Slowly they picked themselves up to reveal a crumpled body beneath them.

"General Dumbledore!" shrieked Hermione, horrified. She quickly helped him to his feet.

Dumbledore, looking decidedly ruffled, asked, "Did you get it?"

Harry shook his head, "Sorry sir, the Goa'uld were everywhere."

Dumbledore's eyes travelled over the group. "Where is SG-3?" he asked.

A horrible feeling settled in Harry's stomach – he had forgotten about Grawp. "I…" he began, but was saved by the arrival of Grawp's massive form tumbling through the fireplace, landing squarely on top of Dumbledore.

SG-1 took Dumbledore's muffled screams as a dismissal and went to find some food.

---------------  
---The End---  
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End file.
